


Reconstruction

by shadeshifter



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Not Actual Non-Con, Post-Apocalypse, but sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7169408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles struggles to deal with the aftermath of Apocalypse. I guess I had some feels to work out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconstruction

**Author's Note:**

> For the x-men-firstkink prompt: So that whole " Tie you down and force my mind into your body" stuff was totally a rape analogy wasn't it? Aftermath of that trauma please. Wouldn't mind f Erik stuck around for a while too.  
> http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/11912.html?thread=23559560#t23559560

His body isn’t Apocalypse’s, Charles thinks but the emotion he feels isn’t relief; he isn’t sure what it is and he’s spent a lifetime cataloguing and discarding the emotions that press in on him. It isn’t his own body either. He feels disconnected from it in some fundamental way that not even losing the use of his legs or his telepathy had managed to engender.  
  
Shock, he tells himself, cataloguing the numbness and the distance he feels from the flurry of activity surrounding him. He is as intimately familiar with shock as he is most human experiences, has experienced it more personally than touching a mind in the midst of it. It isn’t even the first time he’s been dragged to the brink of death while connected to a fading mind. He’d survived that once before, he can survive it again. It’s the rest he’s a little more worried about.  
  
_Professor_ , Jean says, the accent of her thought a concerned query. She turns from where she’d been helping Kurt onto the military helicopter they’d procured through more than a little use of mental manipulation.  
  
_I’m fine_ , he tells her with a quick burst of pride and gratitude as he meets her gaze. Anything further would simply reveal too much. She gives him a faint, hesitant smile and he can still feel her uncertainty before she controls herself and her mind becomes little more than a faint presence on the edge of his. He doesn’t let his mind unfurl, brushing against those around him, assuring himself of their well being, can’t bring himself to, even though Erik’s gaze weighs heavily on him.  
  
Hank touches his shoulder briefly and Charles can feel the wordless request press into his mind. He automatically curls an arm around Hank’s shoulders and lets him lift him up in a movement full of the easy grace he’s always admired in his friend. Hank’s large hands feel solid and warm against him and he can’t help but lean into the sensation that is nothing like the cold, mechanical feeling of Apocalypse.  
  
I’m fine, he tells himself and shivers against the heat of the sun.

 

...

 

They procure a plane in much the same way as they had the helicopter. Jean and Scott sit next to each other in silence, their clasped hands a lifeline between them. The grief for Alex was obvious the moment Charles touched their minds again, but there simply hasn’t been time to grieve so he gives them their privacy. He already feels hollowed out and his own grief is a distant echo like something he can’t quite make real. Raven and Ororo are talking quietly enough that Charles can’t hear what they were saying and he doesn’t pry with his ability, not when things were finally improving between him and Raven. That is what he manages to garner before closing his eyes and pretending to sleep.  
  
There are things he can’t avoid knowing; it doesn’t take effort to reach out to those around him, it takes effort to reign himself in. Kurt is curled up in a corner further away, exhausted slumber pulling him into soft dreams. Peter is stretched out, his leg in a makeshift metal splint and his mind sharp with pain and anxiety. Almost out of habit, Charles softens the sharp edges just a little, but not so much that Peter will notice his presence.  
  
The focus of Peter’s anxiety is a mess of raw emotion bleeding out of him like a mortal wound. Charles immediately shies away from Erik’s mind. It’s not just the luminous tangle, bright and chaotic, that is always Erik’s state of being; it’s that Apocalypse was the consequence of the last time Charles touched Erik’s mind. And Charles can’t, he just can’t.  
  
There is a moment, there’s always a moment, where he wants to seek out Raven like he did when they were children, when things had been difficult but they hadn’t even begun to get complicated. But it’s been a long time since he’s been welcome and even longer since he’s believed everything turns out all right in the end.  
  
He reaches for Hank instead and finds him sitting in the cockpit with Moira. Hank’s thoughts shift between lightning quick plans for rebuilding Cerebro and shy happiness at seeing Raven. Charles smiles faintly and lets Hank’s strong and steady presence ground him. In all the years he’s known him, Hank has been a solid bulwark that never wavers and Charles has never been more grateful.  
  
Charles just wants to go home.

 

...

 

What teachers weren’t taken by Stryker’s men have herded the students to a nearby hotel. Jean finds that out as soon as they reach Westchester. Charles knows he needs to go reassure them that everyone is safe and that they still have a home, but that isn’t exactly true, not in any practical sense. From what he’s gathered from the stray thoughts of the others, the mansion is mostly a wreck. Alex is dead, Peter is injured and he is... he’s fine. He will be. He has to be. They need him to be.  
  
They drop Peter off at a hospital; Raven elects to stay with him, though her gaze lingers on Erik for a moment. None of them in the know say anything. Hank wants to go to the children immediately but Charles insists on going to the mansion to assess the damage first. That’s how they end up on the lawn with Charles in an improvised wheelchair that Erik’s created from whatever he can find. It’s not exactly comfortable, being entirely metal, and does nothing to soothe his aches and pains. He barely notices. His physical aches are almost solace.  
  
Nothing remains standing. Not a single thing. His childhood home is in ruins and he’s relieved. No matter how he tried to fill the place, he doesn’t have to carry the burden of memories in every every lonely corridor and empty room any more. The only happy memories he has of the house have to do with Raven and she’s made her position clear on that. Alex and Sean, his students, it’s not the house that holds their memories, they brought it alive with their presence.  
  
“I’m sorry, Charles,” Moira says.  
  
“It’s for the best,” Charles says before he thinks better of it and gives Moira as serene a smile as he can manage. “A new start might be the best thing.”  
  
“Charles,” Erik murmurs quietly, at his back. Charles isn’t sure what’s in his tone, can’t see his expression and won’t reach out to his mind.  
  
He feels old, ancient even. And tired. He goes to run a hand through his hair but flinches when he touches skin. His hand drops limply to his lap.  
  
“There’s a lot to do ahead of us,” he says instead, his eyes straight ahead on the ruins of the mansion. “But we should see to the children first.”  
  
“Of course,” Hank agrees like he hadn’t wanted to do that from the very beginning. The smile Charles spares for him is faint but genuine.  
  
“I need to report back,” Moira says with a laugh that’s only a little hysterical. “I have no idea what I’m going to tell them.”  
  
“The truth,” Erik says in a soft rasp. Charles can’t stop himself from shivering at the barrage Erik projects. Hank's quiet concern is a balm.  
  
“We should go,” Hank insists and Charles concedes with a nod. The chair starts to move under Erik’s power and Charles’ knuckles go white as he grips the arms.

 

...

 

By the time they reach the hotel, Charles is ready for the day to be over. There’d been little warning and no chance to prepare before everything went to hell. It somehow felt unfair that he can count the events in hours when so much has changed. So many people’s lives had been damaged if not outright destroyed. He’d felt them as the group travelled, felt their minds catching against his, their fear and anger and desperation snagging against the frayed edges of his mind until he felt torn open.  
  
He can feel the students long before he sees them, thrumming with tension and anxiety as they are. When Hank opens the door to one of the suites, their tenor changes to surprise, relief and joy. Charles sinks back into his chair, letting their thoughts and emotions wash over him without trying to stand against the tide. Their thoughts and emotions are good and pure, but he’s simply too exhausted and overwrought to deal with even that much.  
  
“Professor!”  
“Is it over?”  
“Where’s Mystique?”  
“Who’s the new girl?”  
  
Their questions and comments overlap each other until they become incomprehensible. Erik gives them a glare that silences them. Jean drags Scott in amongst the others, Kurt following on their heels and Ororo slightly behind him, but despite their ages they still manage to stand apart from their peers. Charles thinks it might be the shadows in their eyes that reveal too much of what they’ve seen. He drags a smile onto his face and is gratified that some of the students automatically relax.  
  
“Everything is fine,” he assures them. “We’ll start working on reconstructing the school immediately.”  
  
“How long will it take?” one of the students asks.  
  
“What happened?” another asks.  
  
“I’ll help,” Erik says and he’s standing at Charles’ shoulder again. The students quiet again, but they’re looking at Erik with such distrust.  
  
“Thank you Erik,” Charles says, turning slightly but not quite looking at him. Despite everything, he’s relieved. With Erik’s help the work will go much more quickly. Hank nods as well and Charles knows between them they’ll have Cerebro up and running in no time. He grips the arms of the wheelchair to keep from showing any particular reaction to the thought of using Cerebro again.  
  
“The Professor needs his rest,” Hank insists as he takes Erik’s place at Charles’ back and begins to push his chair.  
  
“I’ll tell them,” Jean says, standing tall and Charles nods, relieved that this is one thing he doesn’t have to deal with.  
  
“Thank you, Jean,” he tells her and they share a moment of understanding. Her expression is sympathetic and he wonders how much she’s able to pick up from him. Hank pushes the chair forward and the moment breaks. As soon as he’s away from the students’ gazes, he slumps in his chair. Hank pauses for the briefest moment before continuing on.  
  
“I can take it from here,” Charles tells him when they reach the door to the room he’ll be staying in, a shared one with Erik that brings back far too many memories. He climbs into one of the beds, shifts himself so he can face the wall, pulls the blanket up around his shoulders and wonders if anyone but Jean might hear him screaming.

 

...

 

Charles starts awake, his body jerking out of his nightmare. He lies in the half-light, taking a moment to get his breathing under control. There isn’t much he’s glad about his childhood for, the obvious exception being Raven, but a great deal of trial and error in his childhood and adolescence has resulted in him being reasonably sure he hasn’t projected his nightmares to everyone around him.  
  
Finally, he drags himself up to sit against the headboard. He rubs at his gritty eyes and barely aborts a movement to run a hand through his hair. When he turns, he sees Erik watching him with a neutral expression from where he’s standing at the other end of the room, dressed in only his boxers and a vest as he sets aside his armour. Clearly Erik’s just getting to bed.  
  
“Sorry,” Charles says, wondering what he’s thinking, but not enough to reach out and find out.  
  
“Hmm,” Erik hums noncommittally.  
  
Charles looks away and rubs at his temples, trying to ease away the burgeoning headache. Erik raises a hand toward the wheelchair he’d created and some of the metal slowly pulls away, reforming into a checkered shiny and matt chessboard. He raises an eyebrow in question and Charles sighs, but angles himself to face Erik. The game would prove a useful distraction from his consuming thoughts. Erik drags a chair over and floats the chessboard to the bedside cupboard with the shiny pieces on Charles’ side.  
  
“Charles,” Erik begins, gaze intently on him as Charles makes his first move.  
  
“Erik,” Charles says mildly.  
  
Erik is quiet for a moment though his eyebrows draw together as his brow furrows. He doesn’t say anything further as he makes a move of his own and they continue the game in silence for some time. Charles doesn’t play up to his usual standard, but neither it seems does Erik. Clearly they’re both distracted with other matters.  
  
“You’re not in here, are you?” Erik says, curious not accusing, as he taps his temple. Charles frowns at him.  
  
“No.”  
  
He tilts his head when Erik’s response to that is to clench his jaw and narrow his eyes. Erik has made his opinion of Charles’ abilities clear every time he’s put on the helmet. The only time Erik ever seems to remove it is in defeat. Charles has long since realised it’s Erik’s way of taking control, of daring Charles to be as flawed as he thinks humanity as a whole is. Either Charles stays out of his head or he proves Erik right.  
  
“I give you my word,” Charles tells him earnestly.  
  
“That’s not....” Erik begins and he leans forward. Some part of Charles feels like he needs to hold his ground even though this isn’t a fight, they aren’t even arguing. “I won’t mind.”  
  
“I...” Charles says as his heart starts pounding and his palms sweating. It’s only years of tight control that keep his voice level. “That’s not necessary.”  
  
“Charles.”  
  
He starts to feel light-headed and he has to focus on keeping his breathing even. Apocalypse is gone. Charles knows that incontrovertibly; his mind was tied to Apocalypse’s as he was pulled apart. But everything started with reaching out to Erik. It always seems to start with reaching out to Erik.  
  
“I’m tired,” Charles says, hunching down in his bed again, the game abandoned. He ignores the way Erik sighs and stands, moving over to his side of the room again.

 

...

 

After a night spent mostly staring at the ceiling, listening to Erik breathe, Charles isn’t sure he’s ready for what the morning brings. Charles feels lethargic and just a little out of sync with everyone else, like the world he inhabits somehow isn’t the same one they do. He hasn’t felt like this in ten years.  
  
Almost through process of elimination – Charles isn’t in any frame of mind to do it and the students would probably panic if Erik tried – Hank and Raven become the ones responsible for corralling the students, for which Charles is grateful. It’s the two of them that organise getting everyone to the school after a haphazard breakfast. They gather on the far side of what remains of the pond, just past the tree Scott split with his powers. Jean holds Scott’s hand tightly in her own.  
  
“Alex was a hero,” Charles says and the already quiet crowd goes still. “He was fearless in the face of adversity. He...”  
  
Erik touches his shoulder, briefly and the pressure of his hand is ephemeral, but it’s enough for Charles to pick up on his determination and the turmoil of emotions underneath it. He’s relieved the touch doesn’t linger. His own emotions are enough of a tumult at the moment.  
  
Erik doesn’t make any grand gestures but slowly, inexorably, metal begins to gather until it forms a simple gravestone. There’s no body, but Charles appreciates it nonetheless and he’s sure Scott will too. Alex’s name appears, as though engraved, and then the words “Friend, Brother, Son.”  
  
Charles closes his eyes and tries to clear the lump that’s blocking his throat as it all suddenly becomes too much. But he knows everyone will be looking to him and now isn’t the moment to fall apart, not when so many are depending on him. They’re all important, each and every one, and they need him to be strong, so he can’t be anything but. There’s comfort in that thought, but there’s also a small part of him fluttering in panic at the possibility of letting them down.  
  
“Thank you,” he says softly to Erik.  
  
Erik merely nods and Charles knows that whatever happened between them, there is still some part of Erik that views Alex as one of his own. Charles is so tired of losing people, even when they’re right there with him. He’s so tired of losing everything that means anything to him. So tired of losing himself. He finds he can’t continue, can’t force the words out of his mouth no matter how hard he tries.  
  
“He called me Bigfoot,” Hank says and Charles lets the words flow over him as the others take over.

 

...

 

Afterwards, most of the children return to the hotel. Scott and Jean remain behind, standing over the gravestone. Charles gives them their space, though Jean does take a moment to brush her mind against his, checking on him.  
  
_Professor?_  
  
_Yes, Jean?_  
  
He can sense the question forming in her mind, underlaid with concern and understanding. The knowledge that behind his calm facade he is flailing is also obvious.  
  
_I’m fine_ , he tells her before she can properly frame the question. Doubt rings clearly in her mind and he summons a smile for her, dredging up echoes of his appreciation. This pale reflection of emotion seems the best he can offer, but it seems enough to placate her for now, though he’s not sure how much she’s buying it. _What about you?_  
  
She shifts to fond exasperation and amusement that seems to be becoming a pattern between them and he spares her a wry smile.  
  
_I took on a god and I’m still standing_ , she tells him. Something very close to dread and fear shivers down his spine and it’s only through sheer force of will that he keeps his smile on his face. She must sense something about the change though, because her concern is laser-focused on him again.  
  
_I’m fine_ , he tells her again, turning his wheelchair in the direction of the others. Hank and Erik were arguing with Raven playing frustrated referee. _You don’t have to worry about me_.  
  
_Of course not, Professor_ she says with a faint smile that doesn’t mask her worry. As wonderful as it usually is to have someone the same as him around, it does have moments that are less than.  
  
_Everything will be back to normal soon_ , he tells her. He’s trying to convince himself more than her and he’s sure she’s aware of that too. She doesn’t respond, but the feel of her mind against his is especially gentle before she withdraws.  
  
He pushes himself over to the others where they stand arguing. Erik leans forward, arms folded, looking imposing, but it’s been years since Hank’s responded to that. Raven looks over at him as he approaches and rolls her eyes.  
  
“They’re arguing over how much they can save,” Raven tells him.  
  
“Nothing,” he says automatically. Both Hank and Erik look at him strangely, for different reasons and Erik more so than Hank, but Raven is understanding. He’d filled the house with children and laughter and learning, but that hadn’t erased its past of fear and isolation. Even after decades, he still knows where all the bloodstains, the shame and disgraces are. “Thanks to Peter, almost everything of value was saved.”  
  
“You don’t want anything that might be salvaged?” Erik asks, curious and intent.  
  
“Cerebro was destroyed before the explosion,” Charles says before he realises that Erik would know that because he’d been the link through which Apocalypse had found him. I’m fine, he tells himself as his chest squeezes tight and breathing seems impossible. I’m fine.  
  
“Charles?” Raven asks.  
  
“I’m fine,” he tells her with a gracious smile. Even without touching her mind he knows she doesn’t believe him. He looks between Hank and Erik instead. “I can provide the blueprints if that would help?”  
  
“Yes,” Hank says, eyes bright with concern. “It would.”  
  
Erik merely nods, gaze never wavering from searching Charles' features.

 

...

 

“Charles,” Raven says two days after the memorial. Work on the mansion is going much faster than Charles had ever anticipated, but they’ve hit a snag with the plumbing. Erik might be handy with metal, but that doesn’t mean he automatically knows his way around plumbing. He and Hank had to take a break from construction to discuss the details.  
  
“Raven,” he says with a smile. It feels like such an effort to keep up and slips away quickly.  
  
“I know you, Charles,” she tells him, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. He can’t quite meet her bright yellow eyes, not for the reasons she thinks, he’s sure, but because she does know him and can read his expression a little too easily for comfort. He turns instead and pours them each a drink. She takes the glass and the swirls the liquid without drinking from it. “Talk to me.”  
  
“About what?” he asks, eyebrows raised, even as his heart begins to pound. She looks at him steadily.  
  
“I know I wasn’t there last time,” she tells him, pausing as she searches his face, but he doesn’t blame her, hasn’t since those very first, darkest days after Cuba. He understands where she was coming from and his anger about what happened isn’t directed at her, only himself. “But I’m here now.”  
  
“No matter where life takes us, you will always have a home with me,” he says, leaning forward to rest a hand on her arm. It takes a moment of concentration to make sure he doesn’t pick up anything she doesn’t deliberately send him. She nods but her mouth gives a little frustrated twist. Ever since she told him to stay out of her mind he always finds that every conversation with her is like feeling his way in the dark.  
  
“I know that.” She shakes her head and sighs, the continues more gently. “I’ve always known that.” After a moment she glares at him. “You’re doing it again.”  
  
“Doing what?” he asks, confused.  
  
“Turning the conversation away from yourself,” Raven tells him. “You never used to do that with me.”  
  
He isn’t sure what to say to that. She will always be his sister, always have a place in his life, but that doesn’t mean things haven’t changed.  
  
“I’m sorry, Raven,” he says, because the last thing he ever wants or means to do is hurt her but somehow he always seems to anyway.  
  
“I just want you to tell me what’s going on with you,” she says.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says automatically, as though it has become his mantra over the last few days.  
  
“It’s obvious you’re not, Charles,” she tells him. “You haven’t been since Apocalypse.”  
  
He twitches at the mention of the name. It always reminds him of that moment when he felt himself inexorably falling away, of Apocalypse flowing into him and filling all the spaces until there wasn’t room left for Charles. It reminds him of the broken and bloody representation of his mind that was too weak to do anything when Apocalypse was done with him but feel relief as Jean’s power burned through him. There had been a moment where he thought Jean might destroy him too and he hadn’t cared. Apocalypse had taken everything that Charles considered his own and made it his.  
  
“Charles,” Raven says, her expression earnest and open in her concern. “I can’t begin to understand what he did, what it must have been like, feeling him...”  
  
“Stop,” he tells her, dropping his hand and moving back and away.  
  
“Charles,” she insists, standing and moving forward. “You can talk to me.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“You’re not,” she says, crouching in front of his chair. “That much is obvious. You aren’t sleeping, you can’t concentrate. You’re not fine. Whatever he did to you...”  
  
“Stop,” Charles tells her, his power leaking out in his panic and she does, as though frozen in time. He releases her immediately with an automatic apology that’s more the result of his upbringing than any particular feeling. He couldn’t begin to identify the maelstrom of his emotions.  
  
"Charles,” she says gently. “You need to talk to someone about this.”  
  
He’s trembling without being sure why and he can’t do this, not with her, not now and maybe not ever.  
  
“What happened that you can’t talk to me about?” she asks, moving forward again and he backs away until his chair hits the wall and he can’t go any further.  
  
“You need to go,” he tells her. “Go. Just go. Please go.”  
  
She sighs, but doesn’t step forward again to his relief.  
  
“If that’s what you want,” she tells him. “But you aren’t in this alone.”  
  
She leaves then and he’s not entirely sure if it’s because she chose to or because he pushed her to. He still can’t stop trembling and he has to concentrate on his breathing. He feels at the mercy of a body that doesn’t feel entirely his any more, that isn’t entirely under his control. Some deep, primal part of him is still terrified, can’t stop reacting that way, and he’s frustrated with himself for being so out of control.  
  
His glass crashes against the wall and shatters. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with his reflexes and realise he was the one who’d thrown it. He slumps in his chair, feeling somehow defeated.

 

...

 

Charles starts at a knock on the door and stretches his mind to see that it’s Ororo. Aside from a brief appearance downstairs for dinner, he hasn’t seen much of anyone since his confrontation with Raven the day before.  
  
“Enter,” he calls and after a long moment of hesitation she does. He can feel her trepidation and smiles at her to ease it.  
  
“Professor Xavier,” she greets, stepping into the room but hovering by the door.  
  
“Ororo,” he says. “Come in, please.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“How can I help you?” he asks, gesturing to the chair. She sits cautiously, on the edge, like she’s not quite sure of her welcome despite what he’s said.  
  
“I wanted to thank you,” she says, “for giving me a chance.”  
  
“You don’t have to thank me,” he tells her, instinctively reaching out to settle the more jagged edges of her thoughts. She calms, even knowing his power, and he feels no fear from her. Instead, she remains open and he flushes faintly when he sees he’s been the topic of many conversations over the last few days. Ororo’s only input has been to suggest that they give him space until he’s ready, which he finds he appreciates more than he can express.  
  
“I understand you run a school,” she says, changing the subject without preamble. It’s probably the first conversation he’s had without someone’s concern trying to drown out his own conflicted emotions or their thoughts intruding on him.  
  
“Yes, I do,” he says, drawing the teacher side of him around himself and settling into the well-worn comfort of it. “Are you interested in joining us?”  
  
“I am considering it,” she says and he can see her admiration of Raven and a growing fondness for Kurt in her thoughts. Beneath that is a small but fierce kernel of respect for him, for standing up to Apocalypse’s might knowing he couldn’t possibly survive by himself.  
  
“You would be more than welcome,” he says, struggling to maintain his friendly and courteous expression.  
  
Her thoughts seem to mirror his own as they’re drawn to what he went through, but where he can only see how he is failing to hold it together, she holds him in high regard for persevering. He can see the shape her thoughts take, of sights she’d seen too often on the streets, of broken girls in dark alleys.  
  
“It isn’t like that,” he says. She doesn’t reply, but he knows she’s matching the haunted look in their eyes with his and he almost chokes on bile. “Excuse me.”  
  
It’s all he manages as he wheels himself out of the room. Her sympathy and understanding follow him.

 

...

 

Over the next several days, while Erik and Jean continue work on the building and Hank tracks down the materials they’ll need, Charles spends time in the hotel gym. The first time he'd gone, he'd drawn the attention of almost everyone there. A lifetime of standing out in way or another, and using that to distract people from more dangerous differences, means he usually doesn't care. For now, however, he finds the scrutiny unbearable. The barest tendril of power means no one spares him even the slightest thought.  
  
This, the stretch and pull of muscles, is the closest he’s felt to himself in ages. Before, he used to run to still his thoughts and clear his mind; he ran until his existence was reduced to a satisfied ache and the way his muscles shook with overexertion. He used to love the way the wind rushed past him and his feet pounded the ground in a steady rhythm. That isn’t an option any more.  
  
He can feel their concern, the children, the team, Erik and Raven, he can hear them all the time and it wears at him, snagging at his already frayed nerves until he feels raw. Rawer than he had before. They treat him with caution, like he’s fragile... broken, but he isn’t. He survived, even if not necessarily wholly. That has to mean something.  
  
He focuses on the burn of resistance, lets himself inhabit this body that still doesn’t feel as though its fully his. The mirrored wall opposite the machines doesn’t let him forget that and more often than not he finds himself staring at his reflection in challenge. Every time he catches sight of the smooth curve of his scalp or the look in his eyes, he’s determined to continue with renewed vigour.  
  
“Charles,” Hank says on a sigh and it's only then Charles realises he's managed to narrow his focus so much that he's entirely lost track of what's going on around him. It's a crushing disappointment to be dragged back into the world.  
  
"Hank."  
  
"You missed dinner," Hank tells him, holding the chair so that Charles can lever himself back into it.  
  
"I didn't realise."  
  
Hank sighs again but doesn't comment or argue or cajole like the others might. Then again, Hank is the only one who knows exactly how Charles gets when he's at his lowest.  
  
"I left you something beside your bed."  
  
"Thank you," Charles tells him, patting his hand.  
  
"It's nothing," Hank says, eyes dark with worry that Charles regrets putting there. He’s fine, he’s going to be fine, even if he’s too tired to wheel himself and Hank has to help him into bed.

 

...

 

Charles is sitting in bed, leaning against the pillows, when Erik enters. They’re both tired after a long day, drained for one reason or another, when Erik sits on the edge of his own bed and watches Charles until he looks back. They haven’t talked much since that first night, but Charles knows he hasn’t been far from Erik’s thoughts as much as he tries to stay out of them.  
  
“You’re doing it again,” Erik tells him.  
  
“Doing what, Erik?” he asks mildly.  
  
“Hiding,” Erik says, sharp blue eyes narrowing as they watch him intently. Charles meets his gaze evenly.  
  
“From what?”  
  
“You tell me.”  
  
They stare at each other for a long moment, each contemplating and discarding things to say, accusations to make, peace offerings to tender, like their relationship is a game of chess, only their ideas of what constitutes a win vastly differ.  
  
“I’m not using again,” Charles eventually settles on, then gestures vaguely between his legs and the chair. “That much should be obvious.”  
  
“That’s not the only way to hide.”  
  
There’s a moment, a fraction of second, barely a flash of thought, where Charles contemplates nudging Erik’s thoughts away from his line of questioning, but Charles doesn’t change people that way. Subtle measures tended to be only temporary and more permanent changes tended to be damaging. He’d learned that decades ago with his mother.  
  
“Perhaps not.”  
  
Erik stands then and stalks over to the window, looking out into the evening. His spine is straight and his hands are clasped loosely behind his back. He looks every bit the soldier and leader.  
  
“You showed me my true power, but you have always restrained yours,” Erik says, turning back to look at Charles.  
  
“The difference is, I knew what I was capable of,” Charles tells him. He knows what happens when his power went unrestrained. He had had to learn ironclad control when he was a child, before he’d even met Raven, because the consequences of doing otherwise were unthinkable.  
  
“Do you really?” Erik asks, frowning at him. “Despite everything, Apocalypse showed us what we were really capable of, the heights our powers can reach.”  
  
Charles shudders at the mention of what Apocalypse did before he manages to control the reaction. He can feel Erik’s eyes boring into him, reading each minute response as well as if he had telepathy himself.  
  
“What he did wasn’t a revelation,” Charles tells him, hands clenching into fists. “It was a violation.”  
  
He realises from the way Erik raises an eyebrow that his phrasing might be a little telling, but it’s too late to take it back and any ways in which Charles might try to distract him would be just as obvious. He keeps his silence.  
  
“Is that why you won’t use your power any more?” Erik asks, not walking so much as prowling forward until he’s standing at the end of the bed. “Is that why you don’t trust me?”  
  
Before Cuba, before everything that fell between them, Charles would often seek out Erik’s singular mind and simply revel in its brilliance. He’d made no effort to hide his presence, unwilling to steal such a simple pleasure without his friend’s knowledge, and Erik had seldom turned him away. After, things grew complicated.  
  
“Erik,” Charles says, not sure what he’ll follow up that simple plea with.  
  
“Do you fear me?” Erik asks, his anger cold and bright, like ice. Or, Charles thinks more accurately, like the light of a winter sun catching a drawn steel blade.  
  
“Erik,” Charles repeats, the barest quaver in his voice. The last time Erik looked at him like that he’d threatened to crash the plane they were on just to prove a point. But it wasn’t Erik Charles didn’t trust, though he did have reservations he hadn’t in the past, it was himself.  
  
“I’ve committed acts you can never forgive,” Erik tells him. “Some you can’t even imagine.”  
  
“There’s very little about human nature I can’t imagine,” Charles says simply, determined to meet Erik’s gaze unflinchingly. His eyes slide away from Erik’s when metal begins the gather in the middle of the room.  
  
“But Apocalypse wasn’t something you’d encountered before,” Erik says as the metal reforms and reshapes before it moves towards Charles and wraps around his wrists.  
  
“What are you doing, Erik?” Charles asks, careful to keep his voice even as his heart starts beating quickly. His doesn’t bother trying to jerk his hands free or pull off the metal because he knows it won’t work unless Erik wants it to. With a jolt, his hands become fixed to the bed and suddenly he can’t breathe. Erik moves to stand at his side and looks down at him.  
  
“Was this what he did?” Erik asks.  
  
All Charles can think about is Apocalypse, is lying on that slab while Apocalypse took everything that was Charles and made it his own; so Charles uses it, uses every fear and defeat, every sick feeling of helplessness and betrayal, every memory he can’t forget, and throws it all at Erik in a confused jumble of thought and emotion until the man stumbles back, falling to his knees. He senses then Erik’s desire to find out what is wrong with him and his determination to get answers by any means and his mind recoils.  
  
“Charles,” Erik gasps, one hand at his head, nursing the sudden headache he must be sporting, the other clutching at his heart. “Oh, Charles.”  
  
Erik drags himself to his feet and steps forward, the restraints holding Charles melting away as he does so. He stops short when Charles flinches away from him and scrambles back as far as the bed will allow, arms coming to wrap around himself.  
  
“Professor?” Jean says from the doorway, her concern for Charles shifting to a fierce glare directed at Erik. Erik gives Charles one last inscrutable look before striding past her and out the room. She comes to settle on the bed beside him, her burning anger at Erik carefully being put to one side so that she radiates only calm. Her hand comes to rest on his thigh; he can’t feel it, of course, but her presence itself is a comfort.  
  
“It’s all right,” she says softly, like he has so many times after her nightmares. “It’s all right.”

 

...

 

The next day, Charles finds Erik on the suite’s balcony, drinking coffee and staring into the distance. Erik didn’t return to their room the night before and Charles can’t blame him. At least the menacing aura he exudes means they’ll have some privacy from too curious students and too interested friends.  
  
“Erik,” he says, then pauses, unsure how to continue. “My actions last night...”  
  
For a long moment Erik says nothing. He simply finishes his coffee and puts the mug to one side.  
  
“Charles,” he says, his voice rough.  
  
“I apologise,” Charles says quickly, hoping to forestall any argument Erik might make. Erik turns then and stares at Charles incredulously.  
  
“What?”  
  
“What I did was... unforgivable,” Charles tells him, hoping Erik will understand; he’s not sure he does himself. He hasn’t felt this out of control since he was a child.  
  
“No,” Erik says, looking at Charles like he’s insane. It’s not the first time he’s looked at Charles like that, but Charles at least usually knows why.  
  
“I made a promise to myself to never again try to influence a mind in that way,” Charles tells him, trying to make Erik understand that he acknowledges the severity of what he did.  
  
“Charles,” Erik says, sitting down on a ledge so that he looks Charles in the eye. “That’s not what I intended.”  
  
“I know I haven’t exactly been myself.”  
  
“Charles,” Erik says again, expression losing its hard edge and voice softening. “I went too far.”  
  
“You always go too far,” Charles says with a wry smile that hides a world of pain and regret. “That’s who you are.”  
  
Erik doesn’t smile back wolfishly like he’s in on the joke the way he usually does when he’s humouring Charles.  
  
“I didn’t realise,” Erik tells him, then shakes his head. “I didn’t want to realise. Apocalypse...”  
  
“He tried...” Charles starts, but that isn’t entirely right. Apocalypse didn’t just try. He might not have won, but that didn’t mean Charles had either. “He took everything I was. I’m still trying to get it back.”  
  
They sit in silence for a long while before Charles leans forward.  
  
“I can take it away,” he says. Then clarifies when Erik gives him a confused look, “The memories I gave you, I can take them away if you want.”  
  
“No,” Erik says firmly. His eyes slide away from Charles’ and he looks at the ground  
  
“You’ve had more than your share of suffering, my friend,” Charles tells him, reaching out to grip Erik’s shoulder. “You don’t need mine as well.”  
  
“Charles,” Erik says with a sigh, then he reaches up and taps his forehead. “I want you to see.”  
  
“Erik,” Charles says, his reluctance obvious.  
  
“Trust me,” Erik tells him, leaving the choice and the weight of it on Charles’ shoulders. Charles struggles for a moment with the offer. There’s so much between them, so many choices he knows both of them would change if they could, and Erik will always be his friend, always be important to him. But trust, after Erik willingly handed him over to Apocalypse, is difficult.  
  
He breathes in deeply and reaches out, his mind tentatively touching Erik’s. He feels regret, so clear and overwhelming that it takes a moment for him to separate it from himself and realise it’s Erik’s. He immediately acts to soothe it and is met with wry amusement.  
  
_Charles_ , Erik says, clumsily putting everything Charles is to him in that thought and Charles knows Erik’s as confused and conflicted about him as he is about Erik. He’s also as much a touchstone and counterpoint. They need each other.  
  
Erik’s mind wars with itself, fighting the instinct to protect himself and the desire to let Charles in. Patience is only one of the lessons dealing with the mind has taught Charles and eventually Erik yields. Erik’s fierce desire to know and to understand burns brightly and, as tinged with pain – Charles’ and Erik’s own – as the memories of Apocalypse are, Erik holds onto them tightly as he does almost everything.  
  
_You can’t take it away_ , Erik tells him and Charles realises that Erik has already tied those memories to his knowledge of Charles, himself and their relationship despite, or knowing Erik probably because of, the pain it causes him. Charles can see now that it isn’t just the memories of Apocalypse he’d thrown at Erik. He’d been frantic and sloppy, and several other memories had been dragged along with what he’d sent. It seems lucky that they’ve both come out of the experience without any long-term damage.  
  
He follows some of the chains of memory, not removing anything but easing the more discordant tangles where he can. Helplessness and betrayal are irrevocably tied to Kurt and Cain, but without the context those memories mean very little and Charles moves past them quickly. His reactions after Cuba are as old and worn as the memories of Shaw and a seemingly innocuous coin which are tied to the memory of Apocalypse’s mind being torn from his. They seem to cause Erik more pain than they do him and he eases what he can, blunting the emotions so that they don’t create a raw wound in Erik’s mind. He won’t be the method Erik uses to punish himself.  
  
_I am sorry_ , Erik says as Charles separates them once more and Charles can tell he means so much more than just his actions the night before. He smiles and waits for Erik to smile back.

 

...

 

Later, Charles tracks down Raven to the mansion where she’s supervising the additions to the training rooms. A day or two more and they should be finished. He watches her, poised and in control, as she directs things to her specifications. Not for the first time, he’s impressed by the woman she’s become. His only regret is that for her to become strong she had to do so away from him. It takes several minutes for her to notice him, but when she does, she approaches him immediately.  
  
“Charles,” she says, watching him carefully with concern. He gives her a reassuring smile, an automatic reflex borne of knowing that easing the discomfit in others would ease their impact on him.  
  
“You were right,” he tells her.  
  
“Of course I was,” she agrees easily with a smile. “About what?”  
  
He breathes in, needing the moment to steady himself and her expression becomes serious again.  
  
“I’m not all right.”  
  
It feels like admitting it should change something but it doesn’t. He doesn’t feel either overwhelmed or relieved, the world doesn’t suddenly tilt on its axis.  
  
“But you will be,” she says softly, sadly.  
  
“I will be,” he agrees, because even if it doesn’t seem like it at the moment he knows that eventually that will be true. It was true when he was a child, it was true after Cuba and he knows he has survived before.  
  
“Does this new perspective have anything to do with why Jean wants to kill Erik?” she asks and Charles winces. Jean has been a pillar for him, they all have. “What did he do?”  
  
“You know us,” he tells her, not willing to go into specifics. “We always seem to be working at cross purposes even when we’re aiming for the same goal.”  
  
“You’re both just too pigheaded,” she says, some of the worry easing from the tension around her eyes.  
  
“Perhaps.”  
  
He smiles, letting himself take comfort in her presence as he used to do.  
  
“At least Hank won’t have to do it alone this time,” she says.  
  
“I’m sure the others won’t mind taking up some of the slack,” he agrees.  
  
“That’s not what I meant,” she tells him with a faint, fond smile.  
  
“You’re staying?” he asks, surprised.  
  
“You’re such an idiot,” she tells him as she wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders.

 

...

 

The students all return when Erik and Jean rebuild the last of the school. Jean’s animosity seems to have faded after it became clear that Charles is doing better as an indirect result of Erik’s heavy-handed method of dealing with him. They seem to work together quite well, something Charles is hesitant about given the destruction Jean could wreak if she’s lead astray, but he trusts her. He trusts Erik, too, but not to always know choose the right action or the scale of his response. Still, it’s nice to have everyone getting along. It gives him an achingly tantalising glimpse of what it could be like if they all work together. It can’t last. He knows that. He’s an optimist, not delusional.  
  
He’s not better. Maybe not even close, but he’s getting there. He even managed to inspect the new model of Cerebro without having a panic attack. It feels like progress.  
  
“What about the rest of the world? Doesn’t it ever wake you up in the middle of the night, the feeling that one day they’ll come for you and your children?” Erik asks as he turns from watching Raven inspect the newly coined X-men.  
  
“It does indeed.” Charles says and this is where they fundamentally differ. Where Charles will guard against aggression, will teach his students to do the same, Erik will always take the fight to those he considers a threat, potentially provoking a reaction in the process that might not otherwise have been taken.  
  
“What do you do when you wake up to that?”  
  
“I feel a great swell of pity for the poor soul who comes to my school looking for trouble,” Charles tells him and they share a moment of understanding. Perhaps for the first time Erik truly knows what Charles is capable of with his ability. He is not defenseless and he is not afraid to act.  
  
“You’re sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Charles asks, already knowing the answer.  
  
“You’re psychic Charles,” Erik says with a smirk. “You can convince me of anything.”  
  
It’s the only time Charles can remember Erik making light of his ability and it lets him know, better than any other assurance could have, that Erik truly does trust Charles not to use it against him. Somehow it feels typical that it would take Charles actually coming close to abusing his powers for Erik to trust him not to.  
  
“Good bye, old friend,” Charles says, knowing that it won’t be the last time they meet, not anywhere close to, and that thought leaves him with a sense of happiness and fierce anticipation like it hasn’t in decades.  
  
“Good luck, Professor,” Erik says as he pauses at the door before exiting.  
  
He smiles to himself as he watches Raven’s speech. It’s as though she was born for this and he can’t help but admire anew the woman she’s become. For the first time in a long while he feels something very close to contentment.

 

...

 

One day, when everything has mostly settled down for a while, Charles is drawn outside by a commotion. Jean and Ororo are managing to keep the students quiet and away from whatever it is – all Charles manages to glean are flashes of a wild man – but as he approaches they part to reveal Logan. It’s been ten years since he’d last seen him, though he’s thought of him often and occasionally tried to seek him out. The instant Logan sees him his half-feral pacing and growling still and he stares at Charles.  
  
_I gave him back a memory,_ Jean tells him and he gets a brief flash of a military facility and Logan half-naked in an empty corridor. _The clearest one was of you and the school._  
  
Time, Charles decides, is a strange thing. The mind even more so. But he puts those thoughts aside and focuses on Logan who recognises him and is scared of that fact, as though he can’t trust his own mind. He leaves herding the students back into the school up to Jean and Ororo.  
  
“Logan,” he says in greeting.  
  
“You know who I am,” Logan says, beginning to move again, back and forth, but always keeping Charles in sight. “I know you.”  
  
“Yes. We met ten years ago,” Charles tells him, deciding to leave out the more complicated aspects of that meeting. “You saved me.”  
  
He touches Logan’s mind then, briefly and carefully, trying to see just how much damage has been done and what he senses leaves him reeling. This man has had everything taken from him, not just who he is, but everything he’s ever been.  
  
“I can help you,” Charles tells him. As difficult as Logan’s mind is to read, he can still see its beauty. It’s shadowed and shattered, but shot through with a keen instinct for survival and perseverance, and a small but still glimmering core of goodness that nothing that has been done to him has managed to extinguish. He envelopes it gently, as though scared to harm something precious. _I can help you, if you’ll let me._  
  
“What?” Logan asks, backing up a step and crouching defensively at the sudden voice in his head.  
  
“It’s all right,” Charles says. _I understand._  
  
“Just what is it you think you understand?” Logan demands. He’s gruff and aggressive, but Charles senses the desperate need within him, the desire to hope.  
  
_I know what it’s like to try to rebuild._ Charles opens himself up, just enough that Logan can read his sincerity without overwhelming his shaky sense of self.  
  
“Could use a place for a night or two,” Logan says eventually, his eyes still darting around, taking in everything that might threaten him.  
  
“You are welcome within these walls,” Charles tells him, remembering the man from the future who’d brought him back to himself once and to whom he owed a great deal; he’s still keenly aware of the wild hope in Logan’s heart to belong somewhere. _If you let it, this can become your home._


End file.
